The Bitter Taste
by mistermisstep
Summary: Over a cup of tea and a platter of sweets, the Third Hokage takes care of the Uchiha problem sooner rather than later. He ultimately has Shimura Danzō to thank for that. (AU, one-shot, gen)


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**The Bitter Taste**

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For the uninitiated, a tea ceremony is a daunting thing. Years passed before Sarutobi Hiruzen could confidently go through the steps of both the informal and formal ceremonies without reminding himself of what they were. Yet he longs to robe himself in such steps this evening. The ceremonial puts a distance between what he must do and what he feels about it, which is likely the real reason as to why, long ago, his old friend Shimura Danzō recommended that he learn the way of tea. Danzō has always known how to separate his actions from his self, a thing as envious as it is startling.

More startling is learning that one has the capacity to learn such an envious ability at an age where learning anything more about life seems impossible.

But Hiruzen still sees tea ceremonies as a fussy, laborious thing to be endured and not enjoyed. That shall never change.

"There are more crickets this year," Danzō says, drinking of his tea. He has always enjoyed the beverage, especially _genmaicha_, which is what they are having this evening. Simple brown rice tea, once the drink of peasants.

Beyond the slope-roofed shelter of the _engawa_, ten thousand crickets seem to sing in the darkened garden of the Sarutobi compound. If the two of them were outside the village, the stars above would've been much brighter. How long has it been since Hiruzen has properly seen the night sky? The precise answer does not come, so it's been a very long time indeed. Years or decades. Perhaps he will go outside deep into the forest when all this is over and observe the heavens. There are whole constellations that out there that he's missed.

"Last winter's rains were heavy," Hiruzen says, "so there has been an abundance of many things." The perfume of summer flowers hangs in the air, proof of that observation.

He shifts on his cushion — old bones protest sitting on hard wood for long periods of time — and drinks his own tea. The stoneware vessel held lightly in his gnarled fingers is one that had been given to him by Danzō several decades ago, an imperfect, asymmetrical, and nearly hideous _yunomi_ — an informal teacup meant for everyday use, not a tea bowl. But not even the rough exterior can disguise the fine, hand-shaped design. Time has changed it: the color of the glaze has altered from the heat of water poured into it, and the bottom has chipped here and there.

The cup is one of a pair, the "husband" to its smaller "wife." That second cup has not changed at all in many years. Its owner is no longer here to drink from it, and so it sits upon a shelf. Someday, his cup shall sit next to it, just as unchanging. The thought is both sad and not sad at all, because it is the way of the world: for living things to change and then stop changing.

"We're not here to talk of crickets and rain," Danzō says. "If we were, you wouldn't have sent your entire clan out for the evening."

Danzō only gets to the point when he has something to say or curiosity to sate. His curiosity is not visible, nor is half his face beneath those bandages of his, but his curiosity is there just as that other eye must be.

There is no point in delaying things any longer. Time is a luxury that old men do not have. "The Uchiha clan," Hiruzen says. He does not say more for a few moments, allowing the words to settle before he adds more. "I've decided what must be done with them."

Danzō looks his way. It is not often that people get the chance to surprise Danzō. Hiruzen usually relishes the opportunity to do so. That is not the case tonight.

Pretending to turn his attention elsewhere, Danzō cradles his own _yunomi_ in both hands for a drink. The cup is older than the both their ages put together. "And what shall be done with them?"

"I considered using ANBU."

This is the truth. Hiruzen had considered ANBU. He considered many things, and not alone.

"ANBU would have a difficult time with Uchiha Itachi among their ranks," Danzō says. "Even at his age, the boy is a danger." He shifts his gaze back to the night. "Though I suppose we're lucky that he's taken care of Shisui for us. Had both of them been alive ..."

There's no need for him to say the rest. Itachi and Shisui had been marked for great things even before the two of them stepped into the Academy. It is a pity, though, what has happened to Shisui. No one else should suffer what he suffered, and no one else will.

"My mind then turned to poison," Hiruzen says.

This draws a noise from deep within Danzō's chest. An amused hum. Another man might've just laughed. "People would surely question an entire clan dying in such a way."

Hiruzen looks at his tea, but does not drink. "The entire clan dying would've been unnecessary. But certain key people, yes, I had prepared myself for that." He sets aside his cup. "Then it came to me that it was not people that I needed to poison, but a person."

Danzō drinks. "Killing Uchiha Fugaku alone will not stop the coming rebellion. It's grown out of his control."

"Uchiha Fugaku isn't the one who will die."

A faint clink interrupts the song of the crickets. Danzō must've set his cup down, unable to concentrate on drinking instead of conversation. "You must know something that I don't, then, if the death of one person can end things." Danzō's tone is mild, which is as sure a sign as any that he's irritated. "No matter what angle I see this situation from, there is no route without bloodshed."

"I know as much as you do about things," Hiruzen confesses. "Less, perhaps, but enough to have made a choice that has minimal bloodshed."

"Such a mystery you're making of this."

"I'm old; I'm allowed to be cryptic now and again."

"To the young," Danzō says. "Not to me."

Hiruzen takes a sweet off his plate sitting neglected beside him, _rakugan_ that is a bit too fine for the tea they are having. It is molded in the shape of a beetle and colored like one, a coincidence that makes his heart tighten in his chest for an unbearable moment. There's another such beetle on Danzo's own plate, half-eaten, the fourth such sweet he's had.

Fate has spoken. This is how it must be.

The confection melts in Hiruzen's mouth as he chews with deliberation. It tastes exactly as it should, sweet and without bitterness. Everything seems as if it should be as bitter as poison on a night like this. His tongue certainly is, almost as if he has been tasting the air during a lightning storm. But a storm isn't the reason for that bitterness.

"I've chosen my next successor," Hiruzen says.

Danzō finishes his own _rakugan_. "That's an abrupt change of topic."

It isn't. Nothing about this night has been abrupt. "He's an Uchiha."

Without a sound, Danzō puts his plate down. "Of all the ridiculous, foolish things to do ..." He catches himself, then hisses out a breath. "An Uchiha shall never be Hokage of this village. I'll die before that happens."

This time, the tightness in Hiruzen's chest is harder to ignore.

"Who is it?" Danzō says. His visible eye gleams darkly in the light spilling out of the room behind them. "Itachi? Even if he wasn't an Uchiha, I'd still tell you no. He's only twelve." Danzō shakes his head. "But he _is_ an Uchiha, from a bloodline full of murderers and maniacs, and I shouldn't have to tell you how reckless your choice is."

From under the roof of the _engawa_, Hiruzen looks again to the stars. A star streaks blue and yellow across the sky before disappearing into the dark. A final, blazing moment. "I'd introduce you to my candidate, but you two already know each other."

The crickets stop save for those in the most distant reaches of the garden. A shadow emerges on the path between flowering bushes, and does not stop moving until the light of the main house strips away the darkness from its form.

"You," Danzō says, so many emotions in his voice that it is hard to say which is most prominent. Shock and anger seem to war for the top spot.

The boy standing before them looks ill these days, though he no longer is. He has grown tall, even for his age. In just over a year, his face has lost some of its youthfulness and most of its remaining innocence. It is as if the ghost of his grandfather has come visiting.

But there is one notable difference:

A single Sharingan stares out from his wan face. His other eye is an accusatory open socket, kept as raw and wounded as the day as it was violated. It was necessary, he claimed, to both remind himself of what he had lost and to let him regain it. He had taken to wearing a patch over it, one with fūinjutsu scrawled on the inside to preserve everything for reattachment. That patch is now flipped back onto his head, revealing the red, wet emptiness.

"Good evening," Uchiha Shisui says, as if he really means it. He actually might; he doesn't hold grudges. That quality lends him a touch of the inhuman, in all the best ways. The grace of a god in a mortal boy.

Muscles clench in Danzō's jaw. He starts to stand, but sways and returns to his cushion with a graceless thump. His age has come crashing down on him all at once.

Shisui wears the disguise of a civilian merchant, but he is every bit the shinobi as he strides the rest of the way across the lawn. He does not step onto the _engawa_, as if the porch is a space forbidden to him. Instead, he folds his arms behind his back, looking as if he is waiting for something. He isn't the only one waiting, but it seems that what everyone is waiting for won't come.

"You must've used Kotoamatsukami recently since you aren't using it now," Hiruzen says after a moment. "That's fortunate, though I don't suppose you'll tell me who you used it on, will you, Danzō?"

Danzō stares hard at Hiruzen. His head wobbles unsteadily. "You are a fool," he grinds out.

"For a long time, yes, I've been one." Hiruzen takes up his tea again. It is tepid, but he drinks it down. It takes the sweetness from his mouth and leaves only the ozone bitterness. "That's no longer the case, though it might've been if Itachi hadn't come to me one night, telling me that Shisui had nearly died of poisoning."

"Shisui _should've_ died."

Hearing that is almost refreshing. No more lies can be told, and Danzō knows it. This is simply a last conversation between old friends.

"That poison" — Danzō now turns his hateful eye on Shisui — "it should've had you."

"If you'd been more careful, it would've," Shisui agrees, "just like it now has you."

Danzō's face sags. He closes his eye. When it opens, he speaks again. "I see. No wonder I couldn't stand. I'd thought it'd been the shock of seeing a living corpse, but no, it's something far worse." He takes a labored breath. "Indulge a dying man and tell me how you did it."

He is still looking at Shisui, but the question is not for him.

"You miscalculated," Hiruzen says.

"A rarity," Danzō says. He is forcing the words now.

Yes, it is a rarity. This one has worked in Hiruzen's favor, and in the favor of an entire clan. The favor of a village, too. "Aburame Yōji was your mistake."

Danzō reaches for his cup. He drags it up to his face, and not for a drink. Just for a look, as if he'll see what killed him there. The cup falls from his fingers, cracking on the boards of the _engawa_. Two halves, straight down the middle, running a crooked path. Fate might be trying to say something again, though it's meaning is not clear this time. "Yōji betrayed me, did he?" He wheezes. "Aburame ... can't be trusted ... Too cold, those sacks of vermin."

"He betrayed himself, years ago," Hiruzen says. "Or perhaps it's more truthful to say that you betrayed yourself."

The poison should be close to finishing its work. Hiruzen's timing is not off, for Danzō soon slumps over. Danzō's breaths are shallower, softer.

"Yōji spoke of his insects years ago, when he was on Itachi's first team," Hiruzen continues. An explanation was asked for, and so it will be given. "Not to Itachi, of course, but Itachi still overheard." And it is a good thing that Itachi had, or else darker things would've happened in Konoha. "Poison that does not touch the eyes, Yōji said, a curious way to put it. It's understandable why Itachi would've found interest in such a thing, and even more understandable as to why he reported it to his clan."

Hiruzen reaches out, shifting Danzō by the shoulder just enough to see if he should continue his tale. Danzō is still breathing, though barely.

"They came up with an antidote, just as they came up with their own version of the poison," Hiruzen says, more quickly now. "It has no taste when dry, though it's still quite potent. I can't say the same for the antidote — that leaves a bitter aftertaste even when injected. It will last the night, I've been told."

Danzō's eye darts to the serving platter of _rakugan_ that had been set between them. "Clever," he says, the word nearly broken in half by the effort to make it. He glances to Shisui. "But you're more clever, boy. I should've taken both ... both of those eyes."

"Yes," Shisui says, "you should've."

Hiruzen starts when Danzō laughs. Why should a dying man laugh?

"Kotoamatsukami ..." Danzō says, when he catches Hiruzen frowning down at him. "I'm not the only one ... not the only one who's used it ... recently." And he laughs again, a dark chuckle that wheezes from his throat.

Then nothing.

Hiruzen tenses. Is it done? No, not yet. Fear glitters in Danzō's eye. The fear of a dying man.

"Don't be afraid." Shisui's tone is kind. Genuinely kind, and to the man who almost murdered him. He is the right choice for successor, the only choice. So like his grandfather, Kagami, another old friend of Hiruzen's. He will fix everything. The boy vowed to do exactly that a year ago, when he was still unable to rise from what had nearly been his deathbed. "It won't hurt. There shouldn't be any unnecessary pain in this world, even for you."

Despite the paralytic effects of the poison, the corner of Danzō's mouth ticks up. He stares at the night, his eye already glassy with death. "Finally." His voice is hardly audible. "A worthy Hokage."

The last of his breath leaks out of him, and there is nothing more for two old friends to say. It's not the sort of compliment Hiruzen wishes to acknowledge, and it might not have been meant for him. The method of death hadn't been his idea. It wouldn't be strange for Danzō to know that: his perceptiveness had been one of the many reasons that Hiruzen had let him create Root, after all.

He closes Danzō's eye in a final display of respect. The shame he expected does not weigh on his shoulders. Instead, it is a different shame, the certainty that he should be ashamed when he is not. He forces himself to look away from Danzō, and that is when he sees what he hadn't truly noticed before.

The plates and the platter.

Biwako would've had his head if she'd still been alive, never mind that he'd used them only out of habit. Those plates and that platter, they'd been gifts given for their wedding, and now they'll have to be destroyed. He can't risk having others eat off such things, not with a poison like that.

Ah, well, the pattern was ugly. That, and not forgetfulness, will be his excuse on the day that he sees her again.

Shisui comes to sit on the _engawa_ to unwind the bandages from Danzō's face, and to open the eye hidden there, the eye that had been stolen from his own head on an evening much like this one. The Sharingan glares as if a fire glowers in the skull behind it, red light that has scorched away much of the iris's natural black. Its retrieval is gruesome but necessary. When finished stowing his liberated eye into small storage scroll, Shisui rises.

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be," Hiruzen says. "You've done the necessary thing."

Guilt ripples across Shisui's face. He flips down his eye patch. "I hope so," he says. "I really hope so, Hokage-sama."

There is an incongruous touch of apology in his voice, as if he has done something worth apologizing for. They both know that is not the case. The risk that Danzō had posed to their village and to the world at large was too great for him to be left alive.

Still, it seems that something must be said. Uchiha Shisui has a tenderness to his heart that most shinobi, never mind most Uchiha, do not possess. Though he will never say so, he requires reassurance that he is on the right path, no matter how strewn with corpses and blood it might be.

Hiruzen had been that way, once, until he had learned that everything had a cost. The only thing he could do was make that cost as small as possible.

"I've done my share of necessary things," Hiruzen says. "This won't cut so sharply as time passes."

The boy gives a single nod as if he understands. Perhaps he truly does. He is remarkably perceptive at his age, possessing nearly unparalleled levels of skill, duty, and sympathy. All the makings of a great Hokage are within him. Whatever god or spirit or whim had possessed Hiruzen to choose this child as his successor had been in the right.

"Do what you must," Hiruzen says, and it is both dismissal and advice.

Shisui flickers out of sight; his afterimage burns in Hiruzen's vision. For a moment, is it like looking at a ghost. His grandfather again, perhaps.

Members of ANBU jump out of the trees to collect Danzō's corpse. Their mission won't end here: there is an accident to stage and the entire Root subdivision of ANBU to handle and reorganize. Hiruzen shall be very busy before he retires.

He is busy tonight, giving orders and making new plans or revising old ones. It seems many ages until the work ends for the night. By then, it is nearly light out and the bitterness has stopped clinging to his tongue only to burrow its way to his soul. The crickets resume singing in the darkness that always lingers before dawn. He sits inside his darkened house, letting their sound wash over him. If he just listens without thinking, he can still imagine Danzō waits on the _engawa_ for him, as has happened many an evening, and pretend that everything he's done tonight was an illusion.

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**Notes:**

Just a little something I'd been thinking about.

Lightly edited, but not by a beta.


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